


shaking until

by nitroish



Series: bbs stuff. [5]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, theyre brothers okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-10 00:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitroish/pseuds/nitroish
Summary: his hands are shaking. his hands are shaking in front of his face, where he has them, hovering and shaking, where he put them to do so.





	shaking until

**Author's Note:**

> again, warning for the tags.  
> luke and he are practically brothers,  
> aka this isnt a ship fic and they aint dating

his hands are shaking. his hands are shaking in front of his face, where he has them, hovering and shaking, where he put them to do so. the floor is cold, he feels it through his jeans, its cold and its tile, and his back is against something hard, but not tile. his stomach rolls over itself, into itself, around and under itself, twisting itself into knots and then into more knots. it hurts. he can barely see his hands anymore, he feels something on his cheeks and his eyesight is blurry, ruined by squinting lids and tears that bubble over and out of the tear ducts theyre stored in. his chest hurts too, and he feels every breath as he inhales, shaky and rough and quick, he feels his ribs shake as he wheezes and cries, unable to bring enough air into his chest to breathe comfortably.

his hands still shake, but now he blinks and lets tears fall down dry skin, creating rivers of water over his pale, yet flushed skin. his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his everything hurts, and he hears something rattle, a muffled something, and he ignores it, because he hurts and nothing it seems can help. his chest rattles in a breath, his lungs trying to do their job versus the heart trying to do its quicker. he sees his hands, tear flow stopped momentarily and his hands still shake and hes stabbing himself with his nails, his fists that are bruised and the skin that is torn, the blood he pulled from another body.

he blinks and the scene of his hand is gone, theres no blood dripping down his hand and wrist, theres no scrapes or bruises, his hand is fine. tears begin again and he pulls his legs toward himself, giving up on sitting with his back straight like he remembers reading once, because it would help him breathe easier, but he wants to curl up, close his eyes, seclude himself in the dark and stay there. he shakes and watches his hands shake, watches his legs shiver and bounce without him meaning for them to, and he brings his hands up to his face and tries to figure out if his entire body is shaking or if its just his head, but his hands shake or hes shaking too much to tell, and it aches. his head falls forward onto his knees and he keeps his hands to his chest, elbows out to the sides, and shakes. he bites his tongue, bites his lip, the side of his mouth, raises a hand to his hair and grips it, pulls at it, trying to relieve pressure in his head that isnt coming from his fucking hair.

he hears another muffled noise, and maybe it was just him that time, but then he hears it again and he jumps out of his skin, shaking and cold, desperate to be alone and in silence in the dark of whatever room hed dropped down into this time. he wheezes a breath, finds somewhere smaller than the middle of the floor backed up against that hard thing behind him, wedges himself under something and between two something elses. shakes as the cool tile and cool, hard surfaces above and next to him freeze him, make him shiver from not just panic that overrides his thoughts and body, not from pure exhaustion from how long he hasnt been able to stop shaking or catch his breath, and he bites his hand as if that would stop its shaking. 

another sound from the general direction of what he assumes is the door and he wants to scream, to tell them to go away, to back off, and he wants them to run and jam their toe into a table leg and cry about it and leave him alone. but he doesnt, and he wont, he cant, and he sits there quietly and shakes in his corner pocket of somethings he cant see in the semi darkness. he does see the light on the other side of the door on, shining through the crack under the door, the shadows of someones feet hovering right outside the door, and then his vision blurs with unshed tears again and he blinks, lets them fall in line with the others that have already run their course down his face.

his hands are shaking, and everything still hurts, hes crying and he feels fucking pathetic. locked in a dark room by himself that he doesnt even know, the tile floor means nothing to him, the cramped space shoots off no idea as to where he is, and the figure outside moves nowhere and he hears more muffled noises and he hates it, he wants it to shut up and be silent. but they wont leave, and hes in no shape to get them to, his voice wont work, and words wont form, his throat feels like its twisted around and he tries to breathe to prove to himself he isnt dying, though he sure feels like he is. theres more noise and tears form and he bows his head against his knees again and covers his ears with shaking hands, biting his tongue to stifle his crying and his noises.

and then the fucking door is open, he hadnt heard the knob wiggling, or the telltale click of the lock unlocking, but its opening and hes so close to being bared to whoevers behind the door, the light streaming in and shining itself over the room - the bathroom, he can recognize now - and he curls into himself and he hates that hes still shaking, still in the middle of his disorder and his panic, unable to breathe and see, unable to speak and think. he hears someone talking, probably, his ears are ringing and his head pounds with a headache. and he hears the pad pad pad of someone walking on tile with bare feet, sees someones waist from where hes hiding under the sink, between the drawer sections of the cabinet systems on either side. they kneel and he sees toonz' worried expression now, sees his dark, faded hoodie that hed washed last night, his beard and his hair.

jon about kicks him in the face out of spite. a locked door was a locked door. a solid thing to keep another person from entering. but he cant move, frozen and wishing that he wasnt here, that he was alone in some dark room, might i add again, Alone. but its obvious he wont be left alone now, now that hes been caught, and he feels his friends eyes on him, and he wishes the door was closed again, that there was less light to bare him to one of his closest friends that hadnt had to deal with an ongoing problem, an ongoing panic that wouldnt stop. toonz was there for the after, the end and nothing before, he hadnt seen jon in the middle of this shit, and jon had been sure to try and keep it from him. but now hes been seen, and luke sees him, and now he cant hide.

or, well, he can, and he is, but its for nothing but to hide his face and tears anymore, to try and hide his shaking even though he knows hes failing, because his friend sees him, knows him and wants to help his shaking, currently useless friend. and so luke tries. he leans back, nudges the door closed just a bit so that when he pulls jon out from his hiding place, the light doesnt shine in his eyes. and jon just does whatever with his arms and body weight, lets luke pull him from under the sink gently, slowly, like hes weightless. and when thats too much, jon shakes more, and luke stops, leans back and lets him try to breathe, leaving a heavy hand over jons upper back, staying still and letting jon and his body do its thing, eventually brings up his second hand and rests it over jons chest, over his heart and lungs, and counts. he counts a rhythm, one to three, one to five, not expecting jon to be able to breathe as evenly and deeply as one would normally right away. one to seven, one to nine.

which was fine, because luke was patient, and stayed there with a curled up shaking jon on the cold tile floor until jon wasnt wheezing and fighting against his own body to breathe even just a little slower. then luke continued to gather jon into his arms as he had been, and mumbles for jon to close his eyes, that he was going to carry him to his room and the hall light was still on. jon refuses to close his eyes, he stares at his still shaking hands that are still formed into fists. when hes raised from the ground, theres a moment of dizziness, as if hed just tried standing up too quick after just getting up out of bed. except this dizziness hurts his head and makes his vision swim, after what feels like hours of panic and crying. he blinks a few times when luke nudges the door open with his foot and steps into the hall of the house, listening to lukes feet as they pad away on wooden floor as they move down the hall to another door, jons room. jon can smell the fabric softener on lukes hoodie, can smell lukes scented shampoo that jon doesnt know the name to, or the smell to, and he can feel how soft the hoodie is against his arms and can feel the tickle of lukes beard on his forehead. he doesnt close his eyes, and he watches as he doesnt yet recognize his hallways and the doors, watches as the hoodie bunches up when luke moves his arms a certain way or just how it moves when he walks.

toonz kicks the door open (gently. he doesnt jam his toe like jon earlier thought and wished upon him.) and discards jon onto his bed, piling blankets and pillows around him easily, hands quick working and light, not harsh yet not comforting. a bit frantic, jon realizes, and he flails a bit before managing to finally grab at his friends hand, holding it in his own shaking hands, and he pulls his luke down into his bed, for personal gain and because friendship.

jon doesnt want to be alone now, the bathroom had been small, cramped, and now he was in his room, where there was so much space to feel small and utterly alone. not the alone he wanted or needs, the wrong feeling alone, where it eats a hole inside your gut until theres nothing and you feel empty and numb. hes also cold. so. lukes body heat is his now. thats the law. the rules. thats how it works, usually, and he wants luke to give him the hoodie because its warm and looks cool, now that he looks at it, its a worn black hoodie, almost grey looking in areas, and the string for the hood is gone and theres purposely placed bleach stains everywhere, and the wristbands and edges of the fabric are worn and he wants to drown in the soft fabric. he pulls on it, tuggs and pretends to just be looking and tracing the designs, but he knows he wants it, and its warm and soft, and he ignores the tremors in his hands and shoulders, some left in his legs as he folds them, and holds luke captive with him in the bed of blankets and pillows.

eventually luke does give him the hoodie and delirious is quick to toss it over his head and poke his head out of the top, keeping his arms inside, warm and snuggled into the fabric. he leans against luke, and closes his eyes, trying to relax and breathe. luke knows whats coming. jon does too, because it happens most of the time, so when he starts shaking again after a few minutes, turns over, and buries his face into lukes chest, crying again, silent and cold, luke doesnt hesitate to lean over and run his hand through jons hair. hes more than happy to pull a thick blanket over his own shoulders and over delirious, covering his recovering friend completely in darkness and warmth. he doesnt peek under the blanket, he leaves him alone, to process and reboot his thoughts and and think, yet not completely alone. only leaves him in a small, dark space thats warm and safe. jon eventually pokes at lukes side, to which he pulls the blanket up and aside, looking at his bud and giving a small smile.

jon pulls himself up, slow, and wipes his tears with a hand that slithers its way through the neck of the hoodie instead of the arm. luke threatens to tie the two sleeves together, to jon be trapped forever, unable to play games or feast on shitty pizza. of course he pouts and, a few minutes later when cartoonz thinks its done with, jabs toonz' side with two fingers, making the older male hunch over and wheeze before recovering and covering delirious with the blanket again, laughing and smiling.

when delirious is set free, hes smiling and giggling too. a win in lukes book.


End file.
